Hindsight
by Rei Tomiyama
Summary: Misaki could never have guessed how far he had planned ahead. Nor could he have ever fathomed that he lay at the center of Saruhiko's madness.
1. Blue

A/N: First foray into K, so go easy on me, please. Tried to be as close to existing canon as possible (until Episode 7). Spoilers ahead, so beware! Also, this is FushimixYata, so you have been warned.

**Hindsight**

**Part I**

Misaki.

It is the first thing he breathes upon waking up, and it is also the last thing he says before his consciousness fades into sleep.

In a half-wakeful state, he goes through the motions of preparing himself a buttered piece of toast and coffee with three sugars. The taste has always induced a grimace from Misaki, he muses, but the stark bitterness of the coffee against the mind-numbing sweetness of the sugar is just right for Saruhiko.

"_Hey, Saruhiko, wake up!"_

"…_Misaki?" The lights suddenly switch on, and he is left blearily staring at Misaki, who is sounding far too cheerful for his own good. "What time…?"_

_Misaki's hands are on his hips, and he zooms in on the pink, frilly apron he gave the young man as a gag gift. "Half past seven. Rise and shine, monkey! The king's not gonna wait for us!" Even the beanie on his head has disappeared, replaced by a white bandana that oddly reminds Saruhiko of home economics class (a lifetime ago when he was still just a wonderfully popular student council member who was always confessed to and given countless batches of cookies, ah yes, those were the days). A strand of reddish-brown hair peeks out from underneath. His fingers itch to smooth it away._

"_Mi-sa-ki.."_

"_What?" He loves it when Misaki's cheeks turn red at the mention of his name, and the way his eyes shift ever so slightly away in embarrassment. This moment is his alone to savor; where everyone else in Homura has Yatagarasu, he has Misaki utterly to himself. _

"_You look adorable today, as usual." He pulls Misaki's hand to his lips, then proceeds to pull him forward into his lap. "The pink apron, in particular, renders you perfect housewife material." Yes, perfect housewife material indeed. One of these days he will have to see Misaki in nothing but the apron, he decides. _

_He pulls on his glasses from the bedside table and enjoys watching Misaki sputter out excuses. Of course, that soon escalates into violence (Misaki is a tsundere after all, even if he will die before he admits it), and he is soon ducking and dodging like there is no tomorrow. When it is over, Misaki shoves a coffee mug at him._

"_I still don't get why you like this shit, but whatever."_

_It is a typical morning in the Fushimi-Yata household._

How unfortunate he never did get to see Misaki in that apron. The remembrance has him frowning into the dark liquid of his mug. That must have been one of the things he forgot to do before leaving Homura.

When he sets the empty mug down and finds smudges on the rim where he put it to his lips, another scene flashes before his eyes for an instant.

On the mouth of the white coffee mug there is a little patch of brown curiously shaped like a lower lip, and he doesn't miss the bright red of Misaki's face when he traces his lips to that exact same spot.

The image holds him in its thrall when he sheds his clothes and turns on the shower. He closes his eyes and presses his forehead to the cold bathroom tiles, letting the hot sting of the water wash away the last of his lethargy. Judging from his recent encounter with Misaki, the poor guy still can't talk properly to girls, let alone initiate a kiss. He'll probably get himself killed by some rival Clansman before he gets properly laid.

His lips widen into a shark-like grin. Misaki the virgin. That's what everyone thinks. It's a lie, but not one that needs disproving. It works better for him, too. It won't do to have others thinking they can lay a hand on Misaki, after all.

Misaki is all his. Only he can touch Misaki. Only he can hurt Misaki. Only he can say that beautiful name and see Misaki shudder in response.

His, and no one else's.

…

Saruhiko can hardly keep himself from yawning aloud. Reporting to Scepter-4 headquarters is the obligation of every single Blue Clansman, but unlike the others, he holds no idol-worship for Munakata, nor is he head over heels for the perky-breasted blonde, Awashima.

He would rather be out hunting for Misaki, really. A continuation of their fight would be most welcome, with no meddling female superiors in sight. Misaki still doesn't fully understand the sort of powers he has acquired by joining two Clans, which isn't that surprising, honestly, given that Misaki's never been the brightest bulb of the Homura lot, and Saruhiko is eager to carve the knowledge into his flesh. He closes his eyes for the briefest of moments, imagines Misaki's face contorting in pain and blood running slickly down his fingers.

'Accidentally' bumping into Misaki would be ideal, but Awashima is adamant that he not go anywhere unsupervised considering the racket he caused last time. At the moment, she most likely believes that he hates Misaki with a passion and likewise, given their past and Misaki's plain disgust.

That's another lie, but like the first one, it works in his favour. It certainly can't be explained in a rational manner. There is no one else who causes fire to run in his veins, no one else he would like to slash into ribbons and fuck senseless simultaneously. In his field of vision, there is Misaki, and then there is everyone else. Scepter-4 objectives are secondary to catching a glimpse of his elusive prey.

Bored of staring at the same computer screen for hours on end, he looks out the window. Is Misaki riding out again today on his skateboard, looking for his fellow Clansman's killer? Scepter-4 had apprehended the suspect and his pawn just yesterday night, Yatogami Kuroh, but the Strain woman had outsmarted them, and they had captured none of the three. Homura must not know this yet, however, and are most likely continuing their fruitless search.

Misaki will be ecstatic to get new information on the killer, though undoubtedly he wouldn't fail to throw a jibe about how ineffectively Scepter-4 had run the operation. Saruhiko inwardly shrugs to himself. The Clan's reputation is of no great consequence to him. Meeting with Misaki is far more important. Normally Misaki would never agree to personally meet, but he too, will be only too happy to settle the score, and Saruhiko will be providing him a new lead as well. As for the price, he supposes that will depend on Misaki too.

He is already thinking about how best to lure Misaki in with an e-mail when an exceedingly short blue dress halts in front of him, blocking his view of the afternoon clouds. He can feel his mood deflating. Has the killjoy already caught on?

Still, for appearance's sake, he pastes on a carefree smile and looks up, pointedly ignoring that she is all but shoving her breasts in his face. It is probably not intentional, but then again, it may be so. The woman clearly recognizes that her physical assets are also lethal weapons in a male-dominated organization, although it's a pity her feminine wiles won't work on him.

"And how may I help you, Lieutenant Awashima?" Privately, he wishes she would just leave him to his work, tedious as it is. This must be his punishment for disobeying explicit orders. Watching the Red King sleep, eat and sleep again, while keeping track of the times in between is even more sleep-inducing than normal paperwork.

Her blue eyes swivel back and forth between him and the monitor. "How is our prisoner doing?"

"The usual, no deviations." And because he is entirely bereft of entertainment, he pushes up his glasses and changes the topic, pitching his voice to reach to the other clansmen in the room. "By the way, Lieutenant, how was your leisurely chat with the bar owner? Yield anything useful on the Red King?"

The expression on her face freezes, but she quickly regains her former composure. Not fast enough, however, and every eye in the room is soon looking on in undisguised interest.

"I went only for a drink," she replies primly, "and the bar owner's lips were sealed tightly." Her blue eyes stare him down almost in challenge. "I suppose this should serve to warn me never to underestimate the amount of information you hold." He stares back unflinchingly. Quietly, she sighs and shakes her head, then turns away.

He hears the _click-clack_ of her footsteps resuming, but dismisses it from his mind. Now that she is gone, he can go back to composing his e-mail to Misaki. How long has it been since he's sent Misaki a message? He's changed phones, so Misaki won't recognize the number, though even if he hadn't, Misaki has probably deleted his previous one already anyway.

He can read Misaki like an open book, and he's proud of it. There's nothing about Misaki he doesn't know. Even his e-mails and phone calls weren't left unchecked. Saruhiko is a thorough man, after all. Who wouldn't want to know everything about Misaki? Misaki never did understand his reasons, though, and proceeded to beat him half to death each time he caught Saruhiko viewing the data on his phone.

"I need privacy!" He remembers Misaki yelling at him between blows he barely manages to defend himself against. It's a rainy night, and they're having a shouting match well away from the bar, on account of Kusanagi not wanting to scare away potential customers. It's the fourth time Misaki catches him red-handed, eyes busily scanning and transferring the message data to his own phone. 'What the fuck do you think you're doing, huh? You think you own me or somethin'?"

It is natural for Saruhiko to want to know everything about Misaki, good or bad. What sort of parents he was born to, what his horoscope sign is and his blood type is, what does he do in his free time, there's never enough time to collect all the information he wants.

"It's the other way around, Misaki," he remembers yelling back, and he finally grabs hold of Misaki's fists before they land another hit. Misaki's hands are slippery with rain, and his eyes are drawn to the sight of a raindrop trailing down that slender neck. A slender neck he'd like to lick free of raindrops and cover in bites and bruises. "You're the one who owns me, Misaki. And if you own me,

"Shouldn't I get to own you, too?"

Lightning strikes, illuminating Misaki's bewildered face before Saruhiko leans down to kiss him. Misaki tastes like cola and taco-flavored chips. Not terribly romantic, but he has never been a believer of romance at any rate. Those angry fists hang limply down Misaki's sides now, and Saruhiko presses him against the nearest wall.

He is part of Scepter-4 now, a Blue Clansman, and yet the spell Misaki's cast on him has not lifted. If anything, it's become even worse. At least back then, with Misaki, his need to _know_ was easily satisfied; no words or actions would dissuade him. Now it is different. He skulks around chasing after Misaki's shadow, and worse still, he knows not whose dirty hands could be scheming to take advantage of Misaki. A little laugh escapes him; a needless worry, now that he contemplates the situation. He knows perfectly well Misaki would never let anyone touch him.

Anyone but Saruhiko, that is.

Still, it never hurts to make sure. And despite his bluff and bluster, he knows Misaki will let him do precisely that. He smiles in anticipation.

_To Misaki,_

_Got my hands on some new info about the new film's main character. Wanna meet up and talk?_

Message sending…

Message sent.


	2. Red

A/N: The fic has become rather AU due to the events transpiring in the series since around Episode 8, so it will be canon until Episode 7 and the recent K drama CD only.

To all who were kind enough to leave reviews, thank you for your support! I was really worried about whether I would be able to portray Fushimi well. XD This time around, I'll have to apologize if Yata is a little OOC. I tried my best, but this is also my first time writing him so you have been duly warned. I also apologize for the wait; hopefully it was worth it.

Lastly, this is a Fushimi/Yata (SaruMi) fic, so if you are not fond of the pairing, please do not complain that you were not informed.

I hope you enjoy the read.

**Hindsight**

**Part II**

His clothes are sopping wet by the time they return to the 2DK apartment they share. Misaki enters first, wriggling out of his drenched sneakers and tossing away his socks. Behind him is the sound of Saruhiko locking the door and carefully lining up his and Misaki's shoes at the entrance. He doesn't bother to hide a snort. Saruhiko the neat-freak.

"Misaki," his roommate's voice is eerily calm, "I would appreciate it if you didn't throw your dirty socks at me, really." He turns around, and sure enough, there is Saruhiko holding the discarded black socks at arm's length, managing to look both disgusted and somehow smug at the same time. He can feel his already short temper beginning to fray. Sometimes he wonders how he manages to put up with the jerk, or at least enough to share an apartment. Partners or not, he must have been out of his mind the day that he agreed to room with Saruhiko. Still, the rent's no laughing matter, and after all's been said and done, the guy _does_ pull his weight around the place.

Misaki exhales slowly. No point getting worked up over the monkey's usual quirks. "Just leave it, then. I'll take care of it later." Impatiently he starts pulling off his shirt, leaving only the black tank top underneath.

Normally he doesn't pay much attention to things like these. He and the monkey are both guys, and Saruhiko only glances enough to comment on how Misaki's not growing any taller, or how he never seems to get fatter despite the amount of junk food he can consume.

This time it's different.

He can feel those blue eyes staring straight at him, and he's unnerved. Maybe even a little panicked.

"Wh-what the hell, Saru?" To his horror, he stutters the first word. Telling himself to calm down, he tries again, crumpling the shirt up and throwing it at Saruhiko for emphasis. "The hell are you looking at, idiot?" Of course, Saruhiko catches it without any effort, but otherwise he doesn't move an inch. More than a little nervous, he meets those blue eyes, trying to convey his confusion.

His companion's reply is to start laughing, and all of a sudden, Saruhiko's right in his face. "Mi-sa-ki…" Saruhiko drawls, and chills run down his spine. He tries to step back, but the knife wielder snatches his wrist in a vice-like grip. "As usual, you're completely defenseless, aren't you?" Saruhiko's hand is icy cold on his skin. "Have you already forgotten what we were just doing?" A low chuckle. "Or is this your way of telling me to continue?"

His face reddens at the memory, even as Saruhiko's fingers curve themselves under his chin and he smashes their mouths together. Purely on instinct, Misaki bites down hard, and the coppery tang of blood floods his mouth. There is a muffled sound of pain, and Saruhiko reels back, crimson blooming on his lower lip. For a moment Misaki thinks it is over, and whatever's been possessing his roommate has been exorcised.

Instead, Saruhiko erupts into a new fit of laughter, and his fingers clamp around Misaki's wrist even more tightly than before. "You never betray my expectations, Misaki." His breath is hot against Misaki's ear. He can also smell a whiff of… is that alcohol?

He pushes Saruhiko's face away. The alcohol certainly explains everything, he thinks. The monkey must have downed a drink or two while they were back at the bar, sitting idly at the corner and staring into space while Misaki was deep in conversation with the other guys. Funny he didn't realize that earlier. That still doesn't explain his own reaction, though, but he shakes his head inwardly. Some stones are better left unturned. "Lay off, Saru. You're drunk. Get your ass to bed. Let's forget this happened."

Saruhiko makes a clicking noise with his tongue, something Misaki knows he does when he's irritated. The next instant, though, that devious grin spreads across his bloodstained lips. Misaki barely has time to wonder why before a blast of warm air blows right into his ear and he screeches loud enough for the entire neighbourhood to hear.

"What the fuck are you, in kindergarten?" He snarls at Saruhiko. The blue-haired teenager sniggers, obviously pleased with himself.

"You scream like a girl, Misaki. Fitting of your name, really." Saruhiko's grin turns into a leer. "As for how you'll sound in bed, Mi-sa-ki…" The last strand of his thread-thin patience snaps, and his Red Aura flares to life. Despite his drunken antics, Saruhiko abruptly shifts to a battle-ready stance, expression unchanging, fire gleaming from his fingertips.

Misaki bares his teeth and smiles fiercely before he leaps forward to take the first strike.

His memories of the brawl after are hazy, but somewhere in between he breaks Saruhiko's glasses and has the upper hand, even if blood is streaming down from an open cut underneath one eye and his tank top is decidedly exposing a lot more skin than its original design was. He grabs Saruhiko's askew collar, intending to finally wipe off that self-satisfied smirk with a well-placed punch.

Misaki's fist is less than a centimetre away from Saru's face when he changes his mind and ends up kissing him, all clumsiness and inexperience. The taste of copper is stronger now, but the thought doesn't bother him in the least. The rational part of his brain is aghast at the result, but his gut is telling him it's the right thing to do, and he's always acted more on emotion than logic anyway. Without breaking the kiss, Saruhiko rolls them around so their positions are reversed, and Misaki is the one left on the floor.

It is strange how he can hear the monkey's heartbeat. Funny, for someone who's supposedly drunk the teenager's heart seems to be intent on imitating a horse's gallop. "Misaki," Saruhiko sighs, "Misaki, Mi-saki, Mi-sa-ki…" He can feel his own heartbeat rising, too, and the burning of his cheeks. Only Saruhiko is stupid enough to call him Misaki, a name that should be used for a beautiful maiden, 'a beautiful bloom', as it were. It's not a name Misaki would have chosen for himself. Anyone who dares to call him by his first name is looking for a fight.

"What?" Misaki barks out. Saruhiko has a sick fascination with his name. He assumes it's because the name is completely at odds with his personality, and because he likes pissing Misaki off.

"Stop thinking and pay attention to me, Misaki. Mi-sa-ki..." The whine in the blue-eyed teenager's voice makes him smile a little. For all his so-called maturity, Saruhiko can be a complete brat when he wants to be.

A thought lingers in his head long after Saruhiko's fallen asleep with his arm outstretched as a 'pillow' (Who the fuck would want the monkey's skinny arm as a pillow, he doesn't know, but he wouldn't shut up until Misaki agreed to use it, if only half-heartedly). It's just a wisp of a thought, and he really shouldn't take it too seriously, but…

Maybe, just maybe, Saruhiko calls him 'Misaki' because he actually likes him.

…

Misaki jolts awake in his bed, nauseated by his dream. An old memory, one he would rather forget, has resurfaced, leaving a bad taste in his mouth. He fights the urge to throw up at his old self's naïveté.

A traitor like Saruhiko could never like, much less love anyone, including Misaki. He was an idiot to believe otherwise.

Setting the unpleasant memory aside, he heads straight for the shower. No time must be wasted if he wants to finds Totsuka-san's killer. Every second is equally precious. He smiles grimly. Their search has turned up nothing yet, not since the white-haired boy disappeared with the Black Dog. That doesn't mean today can't be the day that they find a new lead.

Rummaging in the fridge, he grabs the half-empty carton of milk and dumps as much as he possibly can in a clean bowl, then shakes out the last of the cereal. He makes a face as he eats it, but food is food, and since the milk's expiry date is tomorrow, he was able to buy it at half-price. He still hates milk, for the record, but he's learned to cope with drinking it, because he'll be damned if he can't overcome his weaknesses, now more than ever when the lower ranks are in chaos with the death of one of their top men.

Just like how he's learned to cope without Saruhiko to cover his back.

He strolls into the HOMRA bar, skateboard in hand, unable to shake off the knotted ball of emotions the dream has induced in him. His hands are fidgety, like they are itching to hit something. His eyes roam his surroundings; aside from a familiar head of bleached blonde hair with violet sunglasses and the little girl seated on the counter, the place is deserted.

"'Sup," he greets Kusanagi and Anna. The bartender looks up from cleaning yet another glass and smiles good-naturedly.

"Yata-chan," Kusanagi says, "'Rlier than usual today, aren't you?" From behind purple-tinted shades, his gaze is sharp and assessing. Misaki tries to keep himself from squirming. Where Mikoto-san is brawn, Kusanagi-san has always been the brains of the clan…which leaves, he guesses, Totsuka-san as the heart. A renewed spike of rage goes through him. Burning is too merciful and too quick a death for the bastard, so Misaki vows to himself that he _will_ be the one to catch him, and make him suffer through a living hell, so much so he'll be crying to be incinerated rather than remain alive.

"…Yata-chan? Hey hey, Yatagarasu, it's rude not to listen when others are speaking…" Kusanagi is waving a hand in front of Misaki's face and he nearly jumps a foot in the air when he realizes it. The reaction makes the older man turn to Anna, an eyebrow raised.

Anna proceeds to scrutinize Misaki through a red marble, much against his will. Nothing good has ever come about when the girl actually decides to pay attention to him, and he feels a sense of foreboding coming on. "His dream is bothering him," she tells Kusanagi.

"A dream?" Kusanagi looks curious. Anna needs no further prodding, and Misaki can almost swear that she is _smirking _at him when she replies.

"About Saru."

Just hearing his name makes Misaki's face go instantly red. How much had Anna had been able to see inside his head? Kusanagi seems amused to hear this. "Well," the older man says, adopting a thoughtful pose, "Yata-chan _is_ that age, I suppose… and you've never really been keen on talking to girls, either, so-"

Whatever the bartender intends to say next is cut off when Kamamoto barges into the bar, a paper bag of meat buns tucked carefully under one arm and one currently half-crammed inside his mouth. There is silence, and he notices the dark cloud of displeasure hanging over Kusanagi, who is not happy at being interrupted just when he is getting to the best part. Annoyed at how close Kusanagi-san hit the mark, and at himself for clinging so stupidly to such a childish recollection, he punches Kamamoto right in the stomach, yelling, "Why don't you read the atmosphere for once, you fucking moron!" The motion sends the meat bun flying into the air and smacks Kusanagi right on the face.

The bartender's face twists into a smile that promises due punishment. "Yata-chan," he says lightly, "Take it outside, please." Cackling, Misaki drags Kamamoto kicking and screaming to the entrance of the bar. A small scuffle ensues, but soon Misaki has him trapped in a headlock, with the other man weakly crying "Mercy, Yata-san~", and he laughs unrepentantly when Kusanagi-san chides him for picking on Kamamoto. He stretches out his arms, his heart feeling lighter.

This, he thinks, is what has always set him and Saru apart. Saruhiko's never understood the value of having a family like Homura, the importance of ties to people. If it weren't for Homura, for its members, Misaki doesn't know how long he would have wallowed in depression over Saru's leaving, or over Totsuka-san's death. And it's exactly why he needs to be out there, looking for the killer. He doesn't have time to hesitate or keep thinking about the past. He can only keep moving forward.

Kusanagi-san nods in acknowledgement when Misaki leaves the bar to make his daily rounds on the skateboard, and then he is all business again. As Misaki rides away, he hears Kamamoto wheezing and panting, trying to catch up.

He calls out, "That's what you get for stuffing your face so early in the day!", and as expected, Kamamoto goes on the defensive. Busy berating the bearded man on his eating habits, any remaining thoughts of Saruhiko evaporate into thin air.

They come back late afternoon, just in time to witness the sun setting over Shizume. The bar is now chock-full of noise and Homura members, and instinctively he finds himself looking for Mikoto-san before logic takes over and tells him the King's confined in a Scepter-4 cell.

"Yata-chan," he hears Kusanagi-san shouting over the din, "Don't go 'round a-droppin' your phone." The blond man is waving a familiar-looking device over his head. "Buzzed while you were out, too." Kusanagi-san's smile is mischievous and full of meaning, but Misaki has no idea what is going on. He mutters his thanks, retrieves the phone, and plunks himself down on a vacant seat with questions whirling in his head.

_To Misaki,_

_Got my hands on some new info about the new film's main character. Wanna meet up and talk?_

A shudder passes through him. Only one person would ever address him Misaki, so undoubtedly it's from _him_. Saru knows that the only thing that would remotely catch his interest is information on the incident from two weeks ago, so that must be what the message is referring to. And if he's read it right, Saruhiko, meaning Scepter-4, has acquired a new lead on the killer.

He tugs on his beanie absent-mindedly while he considers what to do. There's a possibility that this might be a trap of some sort, but Misaki knows he's too simple-minded to analyze every bloody nuance the e-mail might have carried. All he's certain of is that it's better than sitting on his hands.

That, and he's banking on the fact that Saru's never lied to him. Omitted things, yes, but never lied.

His own reply is short and to the point.

_Where?_

Almost immediately the phone makes a buzzing noise.

_You certainly took your time, Misaki. If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd forgotten your phone somewhere at the bar again, like you always do. You never learn, do you? At any rate, the meeting place is at the corner of xx Avenue, xx Street. I wouldn't want you getting lost, so do bring your phone with you this time, Misaki?_

Misaki grinds his teeth in silence. The monkey still manages to be infuriating even in a message, although his assumptions about him forgetting the phone are right on target. He must have dropped it when he was messing around with Kamamoto.

"Be out for a bit!" He announces to the other Clansmen before he walks past them and into the warm summer night. He types out one last message. No matter what happens, he'll have the information out of Saru, one way or another.

_Going._


	3. Pink

A/N: Sorry for the late update! There were a lot of ideas running through my head for this chapter, but it was rather difficult to put it down into words. I was also hesitant about how much I should write about the more physical part of Fushimi and Yata's relationship, so I'm terribly sorry if it doesn't meet expectations. There isn't a whole lot of plot here, ugh, because I wanted to make the reunion as sexually-charged (?!) as possible. XD

Additionally, I apologize if the characters are OOC. I tried my best, but I'm still pretty new to writing K and may be prone to strange interpretations.

Thank you for all the support thus far and I hope that you enjoy the latest instalment of Hindsight!

Edit 3/21: Just fixed some minor typographical errors.

**Hindsight**

**Part III**

Less than an hour after Yata leaves the bar, Izumo picks up the sound of the door opening, and he sets down the glass he's been polishing to greet his newest customer.

"Seri-chan," he says warmly. Today she is as beautiful a spectacle to behold as ever, wearing a snow white one-piece cotton dress paired with a silver cardigan underneath a blue winter coat. Her blonde hair is unbound and falls in soft waves past her shoulders, a style which he personally finds suits her better than the one she's adopted for work duties. Unlike usual, however, Seri's expression is severe, and her brows are knit tightly together. His own eyebrows rise slightly at the observation, but he wisely chooses not to comment on it.

Wordlessly, he starts to prepare her favored drink. He debates whether to make it more potent briefly, but quickly decides against it. "Kusanagi," even her voice is huskier than usual, "double the amount of red bean paste."

"You sure know how to make a bartender angry," he replies as he completes the order. He cannot repress the shudder that escapes him when he sets down the glass in front of her. "The only uncute thing 'bout you, Seri-chan." He stares her in the eye before he continues. "But 'nuff o' that. What's wrong? You seem upset today."

Seri frowns, takes a luxurious sip of the vile concoction before she answers. "Someone stole my makeup, and I had to come here without it."

"Huh?" Izumo's mouth moves before he has a chance to think his words over. "I didn't even…"

"Don't even try to finish that sentence." Seri smiles at him, but her blue eyes burn with an unspoken threat. "Of course, I didn't expect an uncouth man such as yourself to understand, but to a woman, makeup is her life!" Her unoccupied hand makes a fist and slams it on the counter. He winces at the impact, and makes a feeble prayer that his countertop has not suffered any lasting damage.

He ponders over the Scepter-4 Lieutenant's problem. A makeup thief among the Blues, was it? A thought occurs to him. "Seri-chan, aside from you, are there any female members in Scepter-4?" If there are, he hasn't seen them, which in itself is odd given the frequency at which they clash with Homura.

"There aren't." Seri's tone is absolute. "Which is why I'm suspecting one of the members is pulling a prank on me." The mere suggestion makes him laugh, and laugh he does, despite her put-out look. None of the Blues has the guts to anger their sole female, not when she ranks second in the unit. They probably fear her more than they do their Captain, he muses. The only one who would be capable of doing such a thing would be a certain blue-haired ex-member of Homura, but he can't imagine the boy doing something so troublesome just to piss Seri off, unless...

"You don't suppose any of the Blues have developed any…_interesting _habits, by any chance?" He asks half-jokingly.

"No!" Her face turns an unhealthy shade of red. "Even if I had no idea, the Captain would certainly know if that was the case!" Unless he was the culprit, Izumo mentally adds, but the idea is enough to make him lose his appetite. The topic grinds to a halt, and he lets Seri resume control of the conversation.

A couple of minutes later, he has learnt more than he has ever cared to about the Blues and Munakata's apparent voyeuristic habits. To go so far as to install a surveillance camera in each of the dorm rooms… he doubts the taxpayers of Shizume would be very happy to hear where their money is going. Well, in the long run he can admit the usefulness of such information, even if at present he has no clue how it will help him or Homura at all.

His gut instinct tells him Fushimi is responsible, but he has no way to prove that. The lanky youth has only ever taken action for one person alone, a person who is currently out and didn't bother to inform anyone where he was going. He'd only been pulling the boy's leg earlier, but evidently he wasn't completely off the mark about the message.

Izumo leans forward to talk directly into Seri's ear. "Was Fushimi-kun still in headquarters when you left?" She lifts her gaze to meet his.

"No, he excused himself early and said he had an important errand to run." She pauses as she sees the smirk forming on Izumo's lips. "Why are you…?"

"What important errand," he mutters, "seems like that guy had planned it all along.

"And our Yata-chan fell perfectly for it." He feels a wave of sympathy for Yata, who has eagerly taken the bait before considering what Fushimi would want in return, but it is soon outweighed by amusement. His blonde customer sits in contemplative silence, but it doesn't take her long to catch on.

Her eyes widen in understanding. "I always did think there was something off between those two…" She murmurs, a slender fingertip skimming lightly against her lips.

"By the way, Seri-chan?"

"Yes?" They share secretive smiles.

"Could you tell Fushimi-kun to send us a picture later?"

"Of course."

…

When Misaki reaches the meeting point, the bastard is nowhere to be found. He fumes and glares at the passers-by, but still no sign of Saru. Around him clingy couples enter the building, eager to escape the snowfall, and they shoot him quizzical glances. Shifting his feet, he clutches his skateboard tightly and simulates murdering the monkey in a variety of ways to make himself feel slightly better.

The phone rings. He fumbles, startled by the noise, and nearly drops the phone before he puts it to his ear just in time to hear a voice he could recognize in his sleep. "Misaki."

"Where the fuck are you!?" He doesn't bother disguising the snarl that erupts from his throat.

"Change in plans." Misaki is breathing heavily into the mouthpiece, but Saru sounds as utterly bored as ever. "Face south. See that convenience store? Go inside now."

The call drops with a tiny _click_ and the brown-haired man curses to himself. If his ex-partner hadn't promised to give him some new information, he wouldn't have come. Saru holds the cards this time around, and much as he loathes it, he can only follow.

The convenience store is about the same as any other convenience store, so Misaki doesn't get why Saru chose the place. A flash of blue catches his eye, and sure enough, it's Saruhiko. Strangely, he isn't wearing the uniform of Scepter-4, but a black leather jacket, a blue muffler and jeans. Before Misaki can even react to this sudden change in attire, Saru is already moving, and he grabs Misaki's arm roughly and pulls him to the bathroom stall, locking the door securely and placing his sabre against the door for secondary insurance.

Finally the white noise that's been preventing Misaki from speaking his mind disappears, and he opens his mouth. "What the hell's the big idea," he shouts angrily, yanking his arm back, "locking me in here with you!"

Saruhiko looks inordinately pleased with himself. "I'm just going to sample the goods first, so why don't you shut up and strip, Mi-sa-ki?" Saru is taking out clothes from a paper bag and Misaki's certain he just spotted a one-piece dress. He swallows and nervously edges backwards, although Saru quickly closes the distance between them.

"I've been waiting for this the entire afternoon," Saru says thickly, blue eyes dilated behind the rectangular frames of his glasses, "so be a good boy and put this on for me, Misaki."

His back bumps into the wall just as the blue-haired young man leans in and kisses him. Saru's fingers, as cold to the touch as he remembers them, trace meaningless patterns on his cheek. He tries to remind himself that Saru's a Blue, a traitor, he was the one who chose to act like their past meant nothing, but it's not working. All he can feel are the callused pads of Saru's fingertips, calluses from blade practice he earned after he and Misaki first joined Homura, lips slightly chapped from the winter chill, and the way that Saru's body is pressed closely against his own.

Saruhiko has already pulled off his shirt and is busy nibbling at the skin near his collarbone when Misaki remembers to ask, "If I agree to wear your stupid dress, will you give me what I need?"

"With pleasure," Saru purrs, sliding down Misaki's shorts in a pool beneath his feet. "Glad to see we're on the same page, Misaki."

Belatedly the Red clansman realizes the double entendre he has unwittingly fed the other man, and his face flames up. "Y-y-y-you know w-what I'm talking about!" He stammers out. Saru's eyes suggest he knows perfectly well, and it isn't just information Misaki wants at this point, but he says nothing more. Instead, he steps away and returns with the dress he was carrying earlier in hand, along with the other contents of the paper bag.

"Lift your arms," Saruhiko's mouth whispers against his ear, and automatically he finds himself following the swordsman's directions. The wispy piece of cloth is pulled over his head and down, reaching just above the knees. The color reminds Misaki of a certain spring, when he and Saru went to the neighbourhood park for the annual flower viewing, and were greeted with a gust of scattering cherry blossom petals. Staring down at the dress he's been forced to wear, he wonders if Saru is remembering the same thing.

After Misaki slips on the thin jacket that Saru insists is a 'cardigan', he thinks they are just about finished. Saruhiko, unfortunately, doesn't share his opinion, and pushes him down to the lowered toilet seat, crushing their mouths together for a second kiss. He lets out an involuntary moan when cold fingers ghost up his leg and underneath the dress, going higher and higher and plucking at the waistband of his boxers, but it changes to an indignant squawk.

"Give those back!" Misaki attempts to push Saru away and recover the offending item, but the blue-haired youth waves it like a war trophy above his head, beyond his reach.

Saruhiko has the gall to _tsk tsk_ and wag a finger in his face. "Girls don't wear boxers, Misaki," he says, tossing something at him. He is horrified to find out it is a pair of girl's underwear, and he goes beet red.

"Y-you," he trembles with anger and humiliation as he speaks the words, "you fucking pervert! Go to hell! Go fuck yourself!"

Saru's blue eyes are deadly serious, although his smirk has not wavered in the least. "You'll wear them, Misaki.

"Or the deal's off."

…

Saruhiko relishes the sheer panic and fear that crosses Misaki's face at the ultimatum he's been issued with. Misaki is so very easy to read, and the time they've spent apart hasn't changed that fact one bit. Underneath the shell of pride, he and Misaki aren't so different. They both have their insecurities; he suspects that it may have been partly that which drew them together in the first place.

Misaki is a girl's name, and looking at his ex-partner's delicate features and slight build, he understands why Misaki has tried so hard to cover them up with scowls and baggy clothes, and hide his silky auburn hair with a beanie that squashes the strands flat. It is the reason why Misaki has never allowed anyone to call him by that name, and it is also why Saruhiko makes sure to always say it within earshot.

Misaki despises his name and all it stands for, but Saruhiko doesn't. Misaki is a beautiful name for a beautiful person, and Misaki is the only blindingly beautiful existence in Saruhiko's wretched, pathetic excuse for a life.

He openly watches as Misaki struggles with the lacy black panties while cursing under his breath, but chooses to intervene when it is clear Misaki doesn't have the first clue about what to do with stockings. Misaki's legs are long and smooth, belying the number of injuries he's borne from his early days of skateboarding, and as he has expected, they are a perfect fit with the black stockings. He lets his hand linger for a moment too long on the inside of Misaki's thigh before he retrieves the brand new pair of black leather doll shoes from the shoebox and tells Misaki to put them on.

An interruption comes in the form of a timid knock on the door. Misaki instantly freezes, and searches frantically for a hiding spot. Saruhiko shakes his head at the unnecessary commotion and signals for Misaki to quiet down. He opens the door just enough to catch a glimpse of the intruder.

It is one of the cashiers, and Saruhiko dimly recalls seeing her face, if the uniform was not already a dead giveaway. "Um, excuse the disturbance, dear customer," she starts, "but we couldn't help but notice that you and your companion have been there for-"

He clicks his tongue, and she stops her bleating to look at him uncertainly, like a lost sheep. In the background, he hears Misaki's footsteps getting closer, and Saruhiko discreetly palms a knife. The woman is getting in his way.

"We're really sorry about this!" Misaki sounds apologetic, and he wants to grab his companion by the collar and ask what he has to apologize for. It is the irritating cashier who should be bowing her head to them. Much against his will, Misaki pokes his face through the small opening in the door and gives her a strained smile. "We'll be out soon." He doesn't miss the cashier's stunned expression; Misaki walked in looking like a hoodlum, but the Misaki she sees now is likely more attractive than half of the girls in Shizume City, with a prominent love bite to the neck and swollen lips. Add Saruhiko to the mix, and it doesn't take a genius to guess what sort of conclusions she's jumped to. In essence, the same sort of conclusions Saruhiko's encouraging, even if Misaki remains completely oblivious to it all.

He allows himself a wry grin when he shuts the door again. Misaki is going to throw a fit of epic proportions when Saruhiko tells him they'll be using makeup, and he can't wait to sit back and enjoy it. Even better, he muses, perhaps he'll use his phone to record every delicious second of it.


End file.
